Page 65 of The Finest Scottish Fate

“You know,” she quietly told him, fighting to remain calm, “I remember Grandmama sitting at Granddaddy’s bedside for days and days once when one of his cantankerous old bulls stomped him. He refused to go to the hospital. Said that was where folks went when they were really bad off, and he’d be fine just as long as she took care of him. Thankfully, Dr. Hogancamp was in their Sunday school class, and he came out to the farm when the preacher told him Granddaddy had been hurt. But even after the doctor said he had a few broken ribs and a partially collapsed lung, he still wouldn’t go to the hospital. Said all he needed was Grandmama’s soup and a little rest.” A sad laugh escaped her as she remembered arguing with the stubborn old man she’d loved so dearly. Nothing she’d said could convince him to go to the hospital. “But you know what? It turned out Granddaddy was right. Grandmama had him back up on that tractor in a month, even stronger than before.”

She smoothed a dab of Mrs. Farris’s homemade ointment across Drummond’s lips. It smelled suspiciously of some kind of animal fat, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want them drying out and bleeding. If only she’d known what was about to happen on that day of the visit to the sidhe hill, she would’ve stuffed her camphorated lip balm into her pocket.

Setting the small crock of ointment aside, she straightened his covers, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I know how to make Grandmama’s chicken soup. As soon as you wake up, I’ll make you some. Okay?” Her voice cracked. It had been three days, and he’d done nothing but get worse.

Forcing herself to get a grip on her emotions, she settled in the chair beside the bed and held his hand. “I understand your distrust of Morganna now. Other than her and Callum, I hate the Fae. They’re a bunch of cold-hearted bastards who wouldn’t recognize truth or honor if it bit them in the ass.”

“I’m glad ye nay included me in that assessment,” Morganna said from behind her.

With her gaze still locked on Drummond’s closed eyes, Evie slowly shook her head. “I feel like this is another of their attempts to break our bond. They want me to say the severing vow to save his life.”

“And what do ye feel ye should do?”

Her heart breaking, she rose to sit on the edge of the bed and held his hand even tighter. She clenched her teeth to keep from sobbing. “I promised him I’d never leave. I’ve already failed him in so many ways. He’s like this because of me. Because of my doubts and fears. Because I never told him I loved him. If he dies, it’s my fault.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Please tell me that Callum knows what to do to heal him, since it was the Seelie who did this.”

“Callum sent word of the Seelie’s treachery to the Seven.”

“They’ll probably just cheer them on.” Racked by guilt, Evie leaned forward and rested her head on Drummond’s chest, willing him to fight off the Seelie’s evil magic and rise victorious.

“Not necessarily.” Morganna seated herself in Evie’s chair and folded her hands in her lap. “The gods and the Fae agree on verra few things and have been known to war with one another. The Fae believe they are as mighty as the gods, and of course, the gods believe the Fae, whether Seelie or Unseelie, are lower beings who should be more respectful.”

“So, you’re telling me that one of the few things they agreed upon was the curse on the matchmakers of Craig Durness?”

Morganna avoided making direct eye contact. Instead, she appeared overly interested in her manicure. “Aye, well, as ye know, those of us who rebelled were not just the Fae, but a variety of magical beings. When we insisted upon loving whomever we wished, the gods considered it meddling with the races, as though we thought ourselves to be gods attempting to change creation.”

“When all you really wanted to do was love who you wanted to love.”

“Aye.”

Evie pushed herself upright, but kept her eyes locked on Drummond’s face, praying for a sign that he was coming back to her. “I love him, Morganna. If the gods won’t help, what can we do?”

“I dinna ken, lass.”

“We convinced Beira to call off her wolf-riding hags and stop storming. Who are the other six?”

“Bride, the triple goddess of healing, fire, and smithcraft. Danu, the mother goddess, matriarch of the Tuatha de Danann. Scáthach, she who trains the fiercest warriors of the gods. Lugh, god of the sun, crafts, and leadership. Taranis, god of thunder and storms, and Cernunnos, the horned god of wild nature, animals, fertility, and the underworld.”

“Wow.” Evie rubbed the corners of her tired, gritty eyes. She’d survived on catnaps out of fear of not being awake when Drummond came around. “I wish I’d studied Celtic mythology. It would’ve come in handy about now.”

Morganna twitched a shrug as she settled more comfortably in the chair. “Dinna fash yerself, lass. Mortal books rarely get it right because the gods tamper with them. They dinna wish the truth of their ways to be known by those they consider to be barely above the level of creatures.”

“Well, they sure do take an interest in us creatures and our level of existence when it comes to the fated mate bond.”

“That they do.”

“It appears I either need to bribe them or threaten them,” Evie said. “Isn’t that how it always works in the fairytales?”

Morganna puckered her mouth as if she’d just sucked on a lemon. “I would assume so.” She leaned forward with interest. “Have ye anything in particular in mind?”

“Not a clue.” Evie tried to remember every myth and legend she’d ever read. Fairytales were easier to recall, but were they accurate? “I’m not giving them my firstborn child. That is not happening.”

With a slow, thoughtful nod, Morganna pushed up from the chair and meandered over to the window. “Absolutely not. That would condemn that poor innocent to a life of servitude.”

“What else would a god or goddess want or be afraid of?”

“They want to be worshipped and adored, and fear being forgotten. Once forgotten, they cease to exist.”

“Then we need to forget them.” Evie went to the basin, wet a fresh cloth, then gently draped it across Drummond’s forehead. “Their importance is already waning in this century. Some still follow them in my century, but nothing like the pagan times before Christianity or the other monotheistic religions became established.”